A March to Remember (25 page)

“I won't ask how you know about Fanny, Hattie,” Harper said. “Or I might be compelled to put your name in the papers.” I blanched at the thought.

“I should hope not,” Sir Arthur said.

“Rest assured, Sir Arthur,” Harper said, pulling out a packet of gum. “But, Hattie, you never said how you knew Chester couldn't have killed Jasper Neely.”

“He couldn't have killed Jasper Neely because he was with Fanny at the time of the murder.”

“So the woman you punched in the face is your alibi, Chester.” Harper sneered. He popped a stick of gum in his mouth. “Aren't you lucky?”

“Get out, Harper,” Chester said.

“I'm going. I have a story to write.”

“And you will abide by your promise, to leave our names out of it?” Senator Smith said.

“I will. But I'd stay clean from now on, Senator. That promise doesn't extend to the next story I uncover about you and your family.”

And with that, Simeon Harper, whistling “The Laughing Song,” strolled down the hall toward the front door.

“I expect an apology for Harper,” Chester said, glaring first at Sir Arthur and then quickly at me. “Father invited him in because of you.”

“Yes, but it was your own behavior that gave him fodder for his paper,” Sir Arthur said.

“Well, that's insulting. I'm leaving, Father. I won't stay here and be insulted. I'm going back to Philadelphia.”

“That's a good idea, boy. It's better for all of us.”

“Better for you, you mean.” Chester glowered at his father before swiveling on his heels in disgust.

We watched Chester storm away in the opposite direction from where Simeon Harper had gone. Then the senator turned to me.

“I thank you and my wife thanks you, Miss Davish, for clearing my son's name in the murder. Even I wondered, knowing Chester's temper and knowing he'd disappeared before Coxey arrived. I couldn't fathom why he would do such a thing, but we all saw the altercation between the two that day at the camp.” They were the first kind words he'd said to me.

“You're welcome, Senator.”

“But then who did kill Jasper Neely?” Walter said.

“Some worthless miscreant from Coxey's Army, I dare say. Nothing to do with us, thank God,” Senator Smith said.

“Yes, I'm sure it has nothing more to do with you,” Sir Arthur said.

I wished I could be so sure.

“By the way, Sir Arthur,” the senator said, taking off his spectacles and wiping them with his handkerchief again. “I appreciate you coming to me first with the business we discussed.”

“Of course,” Sir Arthur said.

“Why involve others unnecessarily? That's my thinking as well. See you at tea.”

“Will do. Ah, what good timing, Morris,” Sir Arthur said, watching as Claude Morris returned carrying a larger stack of papers than he had left with. I noticed the ink stain was gone.

“Yes, Morris often anticipates my needs,” the senator said. “I don't know what I'd do without him.”

“I can appreciate that,” Sir Arthur said. I expected him to glance at me, but he didn't.

Claude Morris shuffled by quickly, his cheeks red with embarrassment at overhearing such praise.

“How did you remove the ink stain on your sleeve so quickly, Mr. Morris?” I asked as he passed me. Claude glanced at the damp spot on his sleeve.

“It's quite simple, Miss Davish. I'm surprised you haven't figured it out for yourself.” I sighed at his patronizing tone but said nothing. “A little soap and water, is all. I find Kirk's Castile works best. It cleans pen nibs as well as fabric. And heated up a bit, it's an excellent lubricant for penknifes and letter openers.” I was stunned. I would never had guessed.

Claude Morris, waiting for the senator to join him, set the stack of papers on the desk and a pen on top of the stack for the senator to sign.

“You anticipate all of the senator's needs?” I said, turning my head slowly to face him.

“I try,” he said meekly but smiling at me. I took a deep breath and silently counted to five in French:
un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq
.

“Is that why you killed Jasper Neely?” Claude Morris's eyes widened in surprise.

“Hattie!” Sir Arthur and Walter said simultaneously.

“Miss Davish!” the senator exclaimed. “How dare you!”

“But it's true, isn't it, Mr. Morris?” The eyes that had been glaring at me for my accusation shifted to stare at the senator's secretary.

“It is,” Claude said quietly.

“Morris, how could you?”

“How could I not? The man was blackmailing you, Senator,” Claude said, growing more confident with each word. “I overheard everything. The gall! You are Senator Meriwether Lewis Smith. Who was he but a disgruntled, devious little man? How a good-for-nothing like that had the audacity to come into your very home and give you an ultimatum, to threaten you, the man pivotal to this government, and all the important work you have yet to do for this country, is beyond my comprehension. And as it was beneath you, it was up to me to confront him.”

“But you killed the man!” Sir Arthur said, in disbelief.

“I didn't plan to kill him. I didn't go to the march thinking I was about to kill the man. But when I saw him with that harlot and overheard him scheming to expose you, Senator, to Senator Abbott, even before you'd given him your answer, I knew he had to be stopped. And the sooner the better. While you, and everyone else, were preoccupied during the confusion with Coxey and the police, I saw him standing alone by the wall. I seized the opportunity to put an end to this nonsense. I approached him and was met with derision. When I tried to reason with him, convince him it was for the greater good that he abandon his plans, he wouldn't listen. I pulled out my penknife, thinking threats and violence were all this man understood. But all he did was laugh. He laughed in my face, his crooked nose less than a foot away, as he pronounced his intentions to follow through on his threat. He gave me no choice. So I stabbed him. He staggered, grasping at the penknife. I couldn't stand to see the agony on his face, so I hurried away into the crowd and rushed back to my place at your side.”

When the senator, stunned into silence, said nothing in response, Claude said, “You would've been ruined, sir.”

“Quite so, Morris,” Senator Smith said quietly. “Quite so.”

“I'm afraid we can't avoid involving the police now, Meriwether,” Sir Arthur said.

“No, you're right, Sir Arthur. This must be done right. I must appear beyond reproach.” Sir Arthur rang the bell for the butler. “You understand, don't you, Morris?”

“Of course, sir. I'm only sorry I was found out. But better this than you having to give in to that blackmailer.” The senator nodded slowly.

“Though I don't approve of what you've done, for it will cast a shadow on me for a time, it does pain me to lose you.” After all his service, this is what the man says to whom Claude devoted his every waking hour? I was speechless but unfortunately not surprised.

“Thank you, sir. It's been an honor to serve,” the secretary said, straightening the stack of papers on the desk before taking a seat to wait for the police to arrive.

C
HAPTER
32

“H
ow did you know, Hattie?” Walter asked. Pratt, the butler, with the help of two tall footmen, led Claude Morris away, to be watched in the servants' hall until the police arrived.

Whether Senator Smith's insistence that Claude wait downstairs was due to his fear that Claude would attempt to run away or whether the sight of his secretary made him feel guilty, I wasn't sure. But I could guess.

“I didn't, for certain. But when Mr. Morris mentioned Kirk's Castile soap, I thought it might be him.”

“I don't understand. What was it about the soap that made you suspect him?”

“Kirk's Castile is a coconut oil soap. Coconut oil was on the penknife that killed Jasper Neely.”

“But coconut oil is commonly found in toilet soap. My mother will use nothing else. How could you link the oil on the penknife to Morris?”

“Because Mr. Morris admitted to using Kirk's Castile to not only clean ink spots out of fabric but to lubricate penknifes.”

“You're right. That's not the usual use of coconut oil soap.” We sat in silence for several moments before Walter added, “I can't get over how calm Morris was, how matter-of-fact he was about the whole thing.”

“Unfortunately, I can. He's a secretary and is extremely loyal. His whole life revolved around Senator Smith. A perceived threat to the senator was a threat to him as well. He saw killing Jasper Neely as one more task to perform in the service of his employer. I know because I'm not much different.”

“But you would never kill someone to protect Sir Arthur's reputation.”

“She would if she were as loyal as Morris,” Senator Smith said, his first words in several minutes. I was speechless. Luckily Sir Arthur wasn't.

“Forgive me, but killing anyone outside of war is crossing a line,” Sir Arthur said. “I demand loyalty of all my staff, but I would never condone anyone doing such a heinous thing.”

“I didn't say I condone it,” the senator clarified, “but I'm neither surprised nor dismayed by it. A loyal servant should be willing to do anything.”

“I disagree,” Sir Arthur said. “I've required Hattie to do a great deal outside of typing and taking dictation, including help investigate murders, but no one could possibly have the right to expect their servants to kill for them. It's beyond comprehension.”

“
Suum cuique,
” the senator said, shrugging. “To each his own.”

“The Latin phrase can also be translated as ‘to each what he deserves,' ” Walter said. Though I shouldn't have been surprised, knowing many medical terms are written in Latin, I was. Yet another facet of Walter I didn't know.

And I get to spend the rest of my life learning every facet of him,
I thought, inwardly smiling.

Suddenly Spencer sprinted into the room, yet again dragging something in his mouth.

“Mildred, come get your damn dog.” The senator was furious. Mrs. Smith scampered into the room behind him and picked up the growing puppy. “If that filthy dog ever comes into my study again . . .”

“You'll do what?” Mrs. Smith said, snuggling the dog to her breast.

“I'll—” The senator, glancing from his wife to the Chessie, stopped mid-sentence. “Give me that!” He strode over to the dog and yanked a large piece of silk cloth from its mouth. He wadded it up in his hand and tossed it into the wastebasket. But not before I'd seen what it was. Or more important, what was sewn on to it.

“Sir, the police,” Pratt announced as Lieutenant Whittmeyer, accompanied by two uniformed officers, stepped into the room. With the senator focused on the arrival of the police, I retrieved the dog's treasure from the wastebasket and slipped it into my skirt pocket.

“What are you—?” the senator said, seeing me out of the corner of his eye. “Give me that.” He lunged toward me. I dodged his grasp and slipped to the other side of the room next to Walter. Walter questioned me with a glance.

“I'm sorry to intrude on you, Senator,” Lieutenant Whittmeyer said, raising an eyebrow when he spotted me, “but you requested our aid?”

“Yes, yes,” the senator sputtered, frustrated at being distracted.

“Is that woman giving you trouble, sir?” the detective said, pointing his long finger at me. “I've warned her, more than once.”

For a brief moment I saw hope light up in the senator's eyes. But before he could respond, Sir Arthur said, “Of course not. It's his man, Morris. He's confessed to killing that Coxeyite Neely during the march.”

The senator glowered, the opportunity to retrieve the object in my pocket thwarted. The policemen regarded the senator, now slumped in a chair with his chin on his chest. “Is that true, Senator Smith?” Lieutenant Whittmeyer asked.

“Yes, unfortunately.”

“Where is the man now?”

“He is in the servants' hall,” Sir Arthur said.

“Have him brought up,” the detective said. The senator gave no indication that he had heard or was going to cooperate. Sir Arthur pushed the call button.

Only a minute or two of awkward silence passed before Pratt arrived. “You rang, sir?”

Again, the senator stayed sullen and silent in his chair. “Bring Morris up, will you?” Sir Arthur said.

“Very good, sir.”

When Morris arrived, each arm held by a footman, the lieutenant looked at me, and then at Walter, and then at Mrs. Smith, Spencer wiggling in her arms, but directed his request to Sir Arthur. “I need all unaffected parties to leave.”

“Yes, of course,” Sir Arthur said, leading the way.

As soon as the policeman closed the door, I retrieved the object from my pocket and held it out for Mrs. Smith to examine. It was filthy, ripped in several places, and coated in slobber.

“Is this your husband's, Mrs. Smith?”

“Yes.”

“What is it, Hattie?” Sir Arthur said.

“All that's left of a man's vest with several of its fancy etched-pearl buttons missing.”

“What are you saying?” Mildred Smith said, her usual smile gone.

“That it was your husband Hattie saw running away from the carriage accident that morning,” Walter said. I nodded. The remaining buttons matched exactly. Now knowing that Senator Smith was a regular customer of Lottie Fox's establishment, I realized it had been the senator, and not his son, Chester, who Spencer had barked at as the senator left late the night before the accident.

“Oh my God,” Mildred said. “If this gets out, it will ruin him.”

I shouldn't have been shocked by Mildred's instinct to first protect the senator's career over concern that her husband not only was with a “fallen woman” but by his negligence had cost the woman her life. But I wasn't.

I could never be a politician's wife,
I thought. I glanced at Walter, concern written on his face. I never thought I could be a doctor's wife either.

“So that's why he's so sullen,” Sir Arthur said. “I thought it was because of his man, Morris.”

“What are you going to do?” Mildred said. “You can't tell the police.”

“And she's not going to,” Sir Arthur said to my dismay. Again, the rich and powerful looking out for their own.

“But, Sir Arthur,” Walter protested. “The man left a woman to drown.”

“It was an accident,” Mildred Smith said.

“Regardless, a person died,” I said.

“What was that?” Lieutenant Whittmeyer, opening the door as I spoke, asked.

“We were discussing the murder,” Sir Arthur said. It was his way of forbidding us from speaking to the police about the carriage incident. I was used to holding my tongue when told to, and I knew Mrs. Smith wouldn't say anything, but would Walter abide? He frowned but stayed silent.

“We'll take it from here,” Lieutenant Whittmeyer said. “No need to bother yourselves any more about it.”

The detective stepped aside and let the uniformed officers, pushing Claude Morris, handcuffed, in front of them, through the door. After years of loyal service, this was what Morris was reduced to. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

As soon as Whittmeyer followed his men down the hall, Walter said, “I must insist this matter be brought to the appropriate authorities.”

“And if the senator is guilty, as Hattie thinks, it will be,” Sir Arthur said. “Now if you would all join me?” He indicated Senator Smith's study.

“What is it now?” The senator's face showed a fatigue that hadn't been there a few minutes before. “Morris is gone, and I'd like to be left alone, if you all don't mind.”

“Show him, Hattie,” Sir Arthur said. I held out the vest. “Is this yours, Smith?” The senator snatched it from my hand. He threw it into the fire.

“But it was yours, wasn't it?” Sir Arthur said.

“Yes, it was,” Mildred Smith said.

“It was trash and nothing more,” her husband mumbled.

I couldn't stay silent anymore. “I found buttons on the ground next to the carp pond after the carriage,
your
carriage, crashed, Senator. Those buttons came from that vest. It was you I saw rushing away that morning. You left that girl to die.”

“It was an accident. The horse bolted, and I lost control.”

“But why did you run away?” I asked.

“I panicked. I couldn't have my name associated with her.”

“She bragged about you. She claimed you promised to make her respectable. You could've saved her, but instead you left her to die.”

“Meriwether?” Mildred Smith said. “Is this true?”

“She was a whore.”

A chill ran down my spine, and not because of the senator's vulgarity. How many times had I compared my fate to that of girls like Annie? Who could believe any life was worth less than another's?

“You said if he admitted to it, you would tell the appropriate authorities,” Walter said, reminding Sir Arthur of his promise.

“Yes,” Sir Arthur said, shaking his head. “I gave you the benefit of the doubt, Smith, but you freely admitted your guilt.”

“You're not going to tell the police, surely?” The senator furrowed his brow in anger. “You understand, Sir Arthur. I have my constituents to consider, my committees, my colleagues. I have much work left to do before I retire. I can't risk tainting my name for the sake of a strumpet. Morris's mistake will be difficult enough to endure.”

“Please, Sir Arthur,” Mrs. Smith said. “Don't tell the police. What Meriwether did was wrong, but he doesn't deserve to go to jail.”

How could his wife defend him? He admitted not only breaking his wedding vows and visiting a girl like Annie for “certain entertainments,” but being indirectly the cause of the girl's death.

“I won't go to the police,” Sir Arthur said. “You won't be going to jail.”

“Sir Arthur!” Walter exclaimed. “You can't let him—”

“But I do know a friend of mine who will be very interested in learning about this,” Sir Arthur said, interrupting Walter.

“How could you?” Mrs. Smith said, before bursting into tears and fleeing the room, Spencer clutched in her arms. Was she referring to Sir Arthur's threat to tell the journalist or her husband's despicable actions? I truly had no idea.

“You're going to tell that snake Harper that I was the one with the dead harlot that morning?” Senator Smith said, aghast.

Sir Arthur nodded somberly. “Then your constituents and your colleagues can decide for themselves if you did wrong.”